


In which Gil frets more

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: blundering onward [18]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon, can we all just agree that Gil needs some serious counseling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 02:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: He plays it cool(ish) but the bullying still gets to him sometimes.





	In which Gil frets more

**Author's Note:**

> This and the previous scene were originally written as one continuous piece. I split it into two when I realized it was getting a bit lengthy.

Gil made his way back to the Castle in relative peace. Suspicious, he peered into every shadow. Even now, perhaps especially in Mechanicsburg, he questioned the unreasonable quiet. He passed few people for so early in the evening, and his sense of unease grew. No Jägers loafed in the streets. No contraptions of questionable structural integrity thrummed outside the storefronts—owing more to the time of day than some sinister plot, but it still contributed to the eerie sense of quiet. 

As he approached the Castle, a figure unfolded itself out of the shadows. “There you are!”

Gil froze, his suspicions soaring ever higher. “Zeetha!” He leaned away, trying to evade a hug, but she she caught him with an arm about the shoulders and pulled him tight against her side. “You’re back!”

“Sure am!  _Phew!_ ” She shoved him away again, making a face. “What did you do, steal Tarvek’s pillow?”

Even Zeetha could smell Tarvek’s hair oil on him? Gil thought rather involuntarily of Tarvek’s fists in his hair, keeping him close, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “Oh. Um…”

“Rhetorical.” Zeetha jabbed a finger at the tip of his nose. “Do  _not_ answer. Violetta warned me about you.” She wagged her finger in mock admonition. Gil blushed obligingly. 

“When did you get back?” And when did changing the subject ever help?

Taking a fistful of his shirt, Zeetha dragged him up the steps. “A few hours ago. Tarvek said you were probably hiding out at the seediest dive in town. I said I didn’t think you’d even met Stan.”

“I was at Mamma’s,” Gil objected, knowing that didn’t help his case much. 

“Come on,” Zeetha said, grinning. “Violetta’s making coffee.”

Gil liked Violetta’s coffee. She always added something that gave it an extra kick. Zeetha continued to half-drag him through corridors and up stairways, until at last she shoved him through the door into the second floor parlor and weaponry cache. Gil stumbled, caught the back of a chair, and threw himself into it as though he had intended to do so all along. Unconvinced, Zeetha arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh, you found him.” Violetta dripped a small amount of a clear liquid into each of the cups before she poured the coffee. Gil accepted a cup and spooned in an unreasonable amount of sugar. 

“He needs all that sugar because he’s so bitter,” Zeetha said, and Violetta nodded her agreement. Two against one. Gil shook his head at them. 

“Where have you been hiding out?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Gil objected. Then, because he had reservations about lying to Violetta, he added, “I was talking to Ognian.”

“Oggie’s a sweetheart,” Zeetha said with absolute authority. Gil thought of him smacking Maxim with a barstool, and he hid a laugh behind a sip of coffee. 

Violetta gave him a reproachful look. “You don’t still think you’re a monster,” she said, her tone clearly indicating that she disapproved of the possibility that he might. 

“You’d better not.” Zeetha nudged Gil with her elbow, then downed her entire cup of coffee. “You’re only a little bit of a Chump.”

This time, Gil failed to disguise his chuckle. “Less so than I have been.”

Violetta fidgeted with the latch that opened the compartment of knives beneath the table. Zeetha reached across to pour herself more coffee. Looking at both of them, Gil wondered if he should have kept his damn fool mouth shut. 

“You know you’re a loser,” Violetta began. “Don’t you?”

Gil’s heart sank. Maybe they wanted to tell him that they thought he wasn’t good enough for Agatha. He struck preemptively. “Look, I know no one’s actually good enough for Agatha, but—”

“What? No. I mean, you’re right, but now you’re also an idiot, and you  _know_  how I hate to agree with my cousin.”

Fair enough. 

“I heard about the ducks.” Zeetha grinned broadly. Groaning, Gil sank down in his chair. “Seriously, why would you mess with the  _ducks?_ ”

“Because I’m a loser?” Gil ventured, hoping to come close to the correct answer. Apparently so, for Violetta laughed, slapping the tabletop in her mirth. The gesture reminded him so powerfully of Bangladesh DuPree that for a moment Gil felt both suspicious and cheated. If DuPree were here, she would heartily endorse provoking the local waterfowl. 

“That’s probably the best explanation we’re going to get.” Zeetha nudged him with the toe of her boot. “Don’t take it to heart. It’s not your fault you’re self-destructive.”

Gil accepted a second cup of coffee, into which Violetta added those mysterious clear drops again. As he scooped sugar into it, he considered the one fact that had gnawed at the back of his mind since he had seen her: Zeetha’s arrival should not have made the city so eerily quiet. Even the Castle had left him to his own thoughts. It was unnatural. 

“What did I miss today?”

Zeetha and Violetta stared at him. “You mean,” Violetta said, “you don’t know?”

That sounded ominous. Gil wondered if she had said it that way on purpose. “I don’t know what I don’t know unless you tell me.”

“Don’t fall for that kind of double-talk,” Zeetha objected. She grinned, though, as if she found this entire conversation the best of sport. 

“Agatha found the Castle’s secret stash of those tacky statues you made,” Violetta said, ignoring Zeetha’s admonition. “They’re gone now.”

Gil connected the facts. The Castle had most likely spent hours sulking quietly to itself. The locals had all busied themselves in hauling off the rubble, probably to the Hospital District for repurposing into the construction there. And Agatha… “Is she angry?”

“Nah, she had a great time smashing them up.”

Oggie hadn’t mentioned that, but then, Maxim had interrupted their conversation. “Do the Jägers gossip about me often?” he blurted without meaning to. 

“Gossip?” Zeetha snorted. “They have a betting pool.”

“Ah, of course. About what, exactly?”

Both women gave him pitying looks. Gil took that as his cue to push back from the table and stand up. 

“I see,” he said, rather more curtly than necessary. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Violetta smothered a smile. Nursing the sting of old wounds for the second time that evening, Gil retreated. He never would have thought it of Violetta. She had always seemed so genuine with him. 

He wandered the corridors, not wanting to ask the Castle for anything, not wanting to speak to anyone. They were all laughing at him anyway, the old insecurities whispered in the shadows of his memories. No one could be trusted. Well… Almost no one. 

By the time he found Agatha and Tarvek, he looked glum enough that they immediately gave him their full attention. They sat together in one of the tiny outer rooms connected to the master suite. Tarvek insisted that it was for dressing, but Agatha had turned the space into a little private library. Tonight she curled halfway into Tarvek’s lap, holding a book they appeared to be reading together. Despite his foul humor, Gil’s heart gave a little flutter at the sight of them. 

“Gil,” said Agatha, lowering the book, “what’s wrong?”

He wanted to lie and say that everything was fine. “Is everyone secretly laughing at me?” he blurted. Well sure, that worked too, he supposed. 

“What?” Genuine confusion gave way to a flash of rage. “Who’s been laughing at my Gilgamesh?” Sparky notes crept into Agatha’s voice, and she set the book aside. Probably to get it out of harm’s way. 

Agatha’s protective wrath made Gil feel just a little better, a little warmer. Then he saw Tarvek’s face. Not anger, not pity, not even mockery. Wearing a look of anguished understanding, Tarvek reached one hand toward him, beckoning. 

“I don’t know,” Gil mumbled. He accepted Tarvek’s hand. Agatha moved a little to the side, giving not quite enough space between them, but Tarvek tugged Gil down into the little gap anyway. He halfway sat on Tarvek, and Agatha did not bother waiting for him to get settled before she attached herself to his side. “The Jägers are even placing bets.” About what remained a mystery. 

“Well, they do about everything,” Agatha said, plainly confused. 

Tarvek helpfully supplied, “Vanamonde von Mekkhan is their bookie.”

Of course he was. 

“Violetta, too,” Gil mumbled, reluctant to cause her trouble but still stung by the Smoke Knight’s reaction. “She was amused when I thanked her for coffee.”

“Oh. Um…” Tarvek shot a glance over his head at Agatha. 

“Did Violetta add anything to the coffee?”

Gil felt his suspicion choking him. “Doesn’t she always?”

Agatha took his hand in both of hers. “Violetta neutralized the caffeine,” she said, her grip testing, measuring his reaction. 

Gil frowned. “Why would she do that?” He knew why. He just had some objections. Many objections.

“Obviously, because she does not trust you to maintain a healthy sleep schedule.” Tarvek, always overeager to help in these situations, gave him a brief squeeze. “She never gives you caffeine after sundown.”

Gil felt a bit cheated. He had been drinking Violetta’s coffee at all hours for ages. “Oh,” was all he said. Still, she had no good cause to laugh at him. 

Tarvek shifted a little, leaned in. “That doesn’t mean she’s mocking you,” he pointed out, his breath tickling Gil’s ear. 

Gil considered. He remembered how Violetta had smirked at him over an unknown quantity of absinthe. “She likes having the upper hand.”

“Of course she does. It’s nothing personal.” Agatha tipped her head to kiss Gil’s cheek. “Have you been in Tarvek’s hair oil?”

Tarvek helpfully choked on a laugh. 

“Not exactly,” Gil said, glaring at Tarvek. 

“He was in my room last night.”

Gil froze, every sense strained to catch Agatha’s reaction. He needn’t have bothered. Her hand slid up his arm and across his chest in a caress that felt just a bit like a reward for good behavior. “Really?” Agatha purred into his ear, and Gil tried to care that she sounded like the Castle when she did that. Mostly he cared about her warm breath rushing across his skin. 

“His pillows are soaked with the stuff,” Gil said, terse the only tone he could manage without sighing in pleasure. Tarvek, of course, grinned at him. 

Agatha steered his face to hers for a kiss, another apparent reward. Sliding both arms around her waist, Gil tugged her into his lap. Agatha yielded with enthusiasm. 

Tarvek let the kiss go on for several long, blissful moments before he said, “Would my lady care for details?”

Sputtering, Gil broke away, turned away. His eyes closed, his cheek pressed to Agatha’s shoulder, he fought to steady his breathing. 

“Hm,” Agatha said, in that tone that meant trouble. She twisted free of Gil’s embrace, stood, and took a step back from them. When Gil dared to look up at her, she regarded her two consorts with the same expression she wore when assessing her workbench. Like they were spare parts. Gil swallowed an urge to reach for Tarvek’s hand. 

“No,” Agatha said after letting them stew for entirely too long. “Not details.” Reaching down, she dragged both of them to their feet. She grinned broadly. “The Heterodyne requests a reenactment.”

With that, she propelled her blushing consorts toward the bedroom.


End file.
